


Endlessly, You Said

by never_wanted_to_dance



Series: Call Me Cas Universe [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, California, Call me Cas, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, M/M, More tags and warnings on each chapter as applicable, Professor Castiel, Sam Winchester at Stanford, Sequel, Slice of Life, Therapist Dean, year in the life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 11:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/never_wanted_to_dance/pseuds/never_wanted_to_dance
Summary: Everything is brighter in California. Cas is studying furiously and trying to stay grounded, Sam is limping through law school with two extra jobs and a sometimes relationship, and Dean? Well, Dean is just trying not to drown in the turbulent surf of other people’s issues. Step into a year in the life of three people just trying to stay afloat by the sea. [This is a sequel to ‘Call Me, Cas’ but can also be read as a standalone fic!]





	Endlessly, You Said

_Well I hope that I’m not wrong_

_Baby here’s where I belong_

_Every winter free of snow_

_‘San Luis Obispo’ - Scissor Sisters_

**July**

 

“Dude, come on, it’s like an hour’s drive at most. You’ll make it back in plenty of time.”

Fat sizzled in the pan on the stove, popping and sputtering noisily over the rumblings of the turned-down radio. The bright little kitchen was small, but well-equipped, and Dean paced it somewhat cautiously, turning down the heat beneath the bacon as he balanced his cell between an ear and an awkward shoulder.

“Dean, I’m sorry but I’ve been waiting to go and meet this firm for weeks. I can’t risk it.”

Dean snorted, giving the pan a final shake and turning off the heat entirely.

“Fine, fine, I get it. They’d better be worth it though, messing you around like this for an internship they ain’t even gonna pay you for.”

“You’re telling me. I’ll let you know what they say though. Tell Cas I said hi, I’ll definitely come over for lunch one day next week, yeah?”

“We’ll celebrate when you finally get a damn job then, sure.”

“Where is Cas today anyway? They already started him on the early classes?”

Dean readjusted the phone, bending down to retrieve a plate from beneath the counter. He was still getting used to having to do that – their last apartment was a very different layout, and his muscle memory was still twinging. He shuffled the phone to reply as he plated up.

“He has to do this orientation course thing, it’s a requirement for all new PhD students. Far as I can gather, all they do is walk around campus getting sunburned and talking about protests, but hey, who am I to say.”

“That sucks.” Sam tutted, the sound clicking in Dean’s ear as he sat down at the small table with a thud. “Thought he’d get a chance to enjoy some of the summer at least, before they threw him right into it.”

“Well look who’s talking, Mr summer-internship,” Dean laughed, taking a swig of coffee. “Your first summer actually spent entirely in Palo Alto, and you’ll be spending it stuck behind a stuffy desk making coffee for some bigshot in a fancy suit.”

“Oh, shut up, as if you won’t be stuck indoors too.” A convivial pause fell between them as Dean chewed good-naturedly. “When do you start, anyways?”

“Got my first case arriving tomorrow. Court-appointed, so I can’t say much.”

“No, of course. Well, good luck anyway man. I’ll let you know how the meeting goes.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, of course. See you soon.”

The phone clicked silent with a small beep, and the quiet trickle of music filled the air once more, mingling with the smoky taste of singed pork and the heavy, unrelenting sunlight streaming in at the window. Dean sat back, sipping bitterness and enjoying the silence for a few moments.

Moving cross-country with nothing but a grumpy old mechanic (Bobby), a tired and irritable trainee Doctor of Social Welfare and Public Health (Cas) and a gangly mountain of a younger brother (Sam, of course) to help had turned out to be less than easy. The convoy road trip of belongings had taken four days, end to end, with Bobby flying home more disgruntled than ever at the end – although definitely hiding a secret flicker of contentment at seeing his boys back near each other once again. It was incredible how much junk two people could acquire in less than a year of living together, but Dean was still feeling every pound of it that he'd helped haul up the two flights of stairs to their new home.

It was small, yes, but it was clean enough, and seemed like it could be made cosy, eventually. Squeezed right in between the Peoples Park and the University Campus, it suited their needs – and most importantly, the rent was university subsidised. With Cas on a tentative junior professor salary and Dean paid by the case, they couldn’t turn it down. Sam was less than an hour’s drive across the bay, and you could see the sea from the rooftop, if the day was bright. Which, Dean was starting to realise, was pretty much every day – at least so far. It was a different sort of July to the wet and sticky heat of Austin that he had grown accustomed to, it seemed lighter, and faster, and more alive. The smell of salt drifted in on the wind occasionally, and Dean was already itching to get out and explore the Claremont Hills and the sprawling Briones Park out towards Walnut Creek. The days seemed fresh and alive, full of possibility.

Unfortunately, so far, they were also pretty lonely. The university had Cas on a strict schedule from the first few days after their arrival, and three weeks in, it wasn’t looking to be letting up any time soon. Dean had tried exploring alone, and with Sam whenever he wasn’t out fishing for unpaid legal work, but it just wasn’t the same without Cas pointing out weird flowers, or dragging them into new food places, or butting into conversations to share facts about the socio-political history of a nearby lamppost.

Dean sighed, stretching out in the chair that still felt too new, too rickety. At least tomorrow he’d be starting work at long last, he mused, draining the dregs of his mug and setting it back down. Things were sure to settle down soon, surely.

He’d already looked through his first case file at least twenty times, and it drifted to the forefront of his mind again now. It seemed fairly straightforward – court-ordered family therapy for a set period of time as part of a custody agreement for a single mother, with two sons who she was struggling to control on her own. Difficult kids, mental health issues, absent father who often forgets that child support exists – it was so comfortingly textbook and familiar Dean could have wept. Tomorrow though, she would be showing up to his new office in the flesh, and that was always the most interesting part. He’d take people over paper any day, flaws and all.

A sudden buzzing in his pocket made him jump, interrupting his lazy train of thought. Dragging his thumb across the screen, he smiled softly at the lock screen image. It was an old selfie, slightly blurred at one corner with them both squished into frame. It was nothing special – a random board-game evening that Charlie had hosted last year and dragged them both along to, somehow managing to turn Munchkin into a drinking game and getting everybody thoroughly wasted – all the makings of an excellent, but fairly pedestrian evening. Dean had caught Cas slumping down in his chair as Benny hollered insults at Victor across the room for supposedly breaking some sacred rule, and pulled him over to the sofa, both drunk and giggling. They’d huddled together, taking dumb selfies with snapchat filters and laughing at each other, until finally giving up and falling asleep on the lumpy couch. Dean had woken up with a crick in his neck and a deadly hangover the next morning, found the photos and promptly deleted them all – except one. Cas was laughing, eyes soft and crinkled, head thrown back with unadulterated glee in the soft light of Charlie's cheap lamps, and Dean was just… looking at him, and grinning. It wasn’t their best photo by far, but it was his favourite.

FROM: Cas

_This speaker blows. It’s like undergrad orientation all over again, except everyone is older, grumpier and not nearly as drunk._

FROM: Dean

**You’ll live. Anything in the handbook expressly forbidding tequila shots? Might liven things up a touch.**

FROM: Cas

_Another hour of this guy’s voice and I might have to find a chemist postgrad who can synthesise me some._

FROM: Dean

**Any idea when you’ll be back? I was thinking taquitos for dinner later.**

FROM: Cas

_Hopefully earlier than yesterday, I’ll keep you updated._

FROM: Dean

**Okay. Stay safe**

FROM: Cas

_I’ll limit my midday tequila intake to no more than six shots, I promise. Doctor’s orders._

FROM: Cas

_Miss you. See you later._

***

 

Sam shrugged nervously, tugging at the collar of his new suit. It was predictably stuffy in the office waiting area – the clunking air system in the corner sounded like it hadn’t been serviced in years, and the receptionist was glaring at him from behind a noisy table-fan to compensate. This end of town was way too expensive for him – hopefully, if nothing else from this meeting, they would validate his parking. Stealing another glance at the surly receptionist however, it didn’t seem massively likely.

“Mr Winchester?”

Sam sat up straighter, dropping his hand from his collar self-consciously. She looked him up and down with a raised eyebrow, appraising him thoroughly.

“They’re ready for you now. Second door on the right, go straight through.”

He stood up, gathering possessions awkwardly. “Thanks.” He shuffled past, shouldering his bag and setting off down the glass and silver metal hallway, shoes squeaking quietly on the polished wood floor.

This had never been the plan. He was supposed to get into Stanford Law, find an internship at a nice little public defender’s office close to his apartment block, and enjoy his summer of relative freedom while making contacts and making an impression with people he liked. However, as it turned out, more or less every other wannabe lawyer in the pacific region had had the same idea – and intern positions, however unpaid and crummy they may be, got snapped up quicker than he ever could have expected.

So he’d ventured out. Finally, halfway into Silicon Valley, somebody had returned his calls, and he’d jumped at the chance – anything would be preferable to being the only one turning up in the fall without summer internship experience. And so, Sam had found himself at Smythe and Shurley LLC, specialists in intellectual property litigation and copyright protection law. The whole building was white, towering and unnecessarily spacious – it made him viscerally uncomfortable.

Reaching for the frosted glass door, Sam stopped as an unseen hand pulled it open and away from him. A robust, balding man with sharp eyes and a sharper suit stood in front of him, beaming with a smile that didn’t reach beyond his lips.

“Mr Winchester, I presume?”

“Mr Smythe, thank you so much for seeing me.” Sam stuck out a hand and found it grasped ever so slightly too firmly in response. The blast of cool air from behind the door hit him with a relieved rush - no clunky air conditioning down this corridor, clearly. 

“So I hear you wanna be an intern. Well, come in, we’ll see what we can do for you. Always in need of more hands around here.” The man ushered him in and closed the door gently behind him. “And please, if you’re going to be working here, do call me Zachariah.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Told y'all I was going to write a sequel, didn't I? Be careful what you wish for...


End file.
